


we’re all still kids and kids eventually run out of luck

by eruriku



Category: Fall Out Boy, InuYasha - A Feudal Fairy Tale
Genre: F/M, Gen, did i really just tag fall out boy, holy shit, i would like to extend my gratitude to ao3 for their kickass tag system
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-17 01:53:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4647867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eruriku/pseuds/eruriku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternatively titled "We Chased A Jewel For A Couple Of Years And All We Got Was This Stupid Story". A compilation of Inuyasha drabbles based off of Fall Out Boy lyrics.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we’re all still kids and kids eventually run out of luck

**Author's Note:**

> So recently I got really into Fall Out Boy (took me long enough) and, as you do, I mashed up my two current favorite Things together, and they just so happened to be FOB and Inuyasha. 
> 
> Obviously you probably won't agree with every single song I've chosen for each drabble but I wrote each piece based not only off the lyrics but also the general tone of the song. In short - whatever I felt listening to the song, that's what I tried to evoke with the writing. 
> 
> The list of all the songs are at the end of this compilation. 
> 
> You'll find a variety of characters/ships in this collection, including but not limited to Inuyasha, Kagome, Miroku, Naraku, the Inu Taisho, Koga, etc. Have fun my lovelies!

**PAVLOVE** ****

_i’m the invisible man  
who can’t stop staring at the mirror_

Of all the treacheries and merciless fates he’s ever handed to an unlucky or pathetic soul on this forsaken planet – demon or human – he’s dealt with far worse himself.

Disembodiment? Psychological torture? Using your victims’ loved ones against them? Please. He could write an entire novel about sins and sinning that would rival the bible. If he goes to hell, he’d have expected as much. If he comes out of this alive, it’ll still feel like hell but with a dash of vengeful victory that’ll at least make things just a little sweeter.

They frequently assault him with threats and promises of an aggressive and just fate. They’re a persistent band of stupid children, he’ll admit that much. He’s not sure if they’re brave or foolhardy or just itching to shake hands with death. They speak like the adults they haven’t grown up to be and they tell him time and time again that they’ll give him what he deserves.

(His eternal end.)

There are worse things.

He can never get her wretched face out of his head, though sometimes he succeeds at least in pushing it into the furthest corners or blurring it out enough to proceed with the next stages of his numerous, overlapping plans. Despite his efforts, her name is a constant presence in his mind, a soft, biting chorus of _Kikyo, Kikyo, Kikyo_ whispering its way through all the levels of his subconscious. If he had blueprints of every single phase of his world-conquering, half-demon-exterminating schemes, her name would be scrawled loosely and half-heartedly in the corners, under titles, within margins, as if he couldn’t stop thinking about her while he was in the middle of formulating massive genocide. And it’s true.

As much as she lights the empty cavity of his chest with an irate and livid flame, Kikyo’s features still have a strange way of soothing the pathetic remnants of Onigumo, who keeps worming his way back into this world in the form of an incessant spider scar that’s really more tasteless than it is gruesome.

Onigumo’s sick desire for Kikyo persists and it drives Naraku to the brink of madness, every time he gets close to the priestess and she manages to sneak away from his fingertips. It’s a new kind of torturous psychological onslaught he’s never even considered and the bitterness and misery linked to it is kind of poignantly, chillingly beautiful. He’s learned to deal with two darknesses at once.

Onigumo wants to own her, claim her, consume her; _Naraku_ wants to make her pay.

That’s the only bright side to Kikyo’s ridiculous grasp on his senses and her unyielding clutch on his mind. As long as she plagues his thoughts, she also fuels his tenacity to achieve his objectives. It certainly hasn’t been the easiest journey, nor the most pleasant, but he feels like he’s finally getting closer. His fingers twitch sometimes at the thought of Kikyo’s pale, smooth neck - a sorry manifestation of the dirt and bones she came from - locked in his grip and it sends such vitalizing tremors through his body. Soon, he’ll have her in the palm of his hand, hopefully as literally as possible.

There’s an ache in him that expands and amplifies as time goes on, an ache to make her as tragically lonely as she’s made him, a burning, agonizing ache he’s slowly growing addicted to.

 

 

**AMERICA’S SUITEHEARTS**

_but i must confess  
i’m in love with my own sins_

Miroku doesn’t believe in karma, not quite.

Of course, he’s an advocate of justice and fairness, that’s for sure. There are far too many times he’s seen to it that Inuyasha (and occasionally Shippo) have dealt with the consequences of their actions when necessary. But he doesn’t think that if a person does one bad deed, then they have to be punished so severely.

It’s more … complicated than that.

He stands by the belief that any single person has a plaque of sorts; an empty slate if you will. By all accounts, it is their responsibility and _right_ to fill the plaque with … whatever they want, honestly. They could scratch in as many evil deeds as they can manage in the length of their lifetime or they could take the painstaking effort to forge a sturdy, clean, and _good_ plaque. Whatever they decide to do with their choices, the decisions remain _theirs_ , whether pure or evil, and Miroku knows that that’s just the way things go. Such is how the universe maintains a sense of balance, and he of all people knows how absolutely integral balance is.

Personally, Miroku thinks his plaque is quite _good_ so far, and if it had a physical form, it would probably be neat, organized, and detailed comprehensively with all of his good deeds.

Of course, it would probably also have a little rust on the corners and a few chicken scratches here and there. Everywhere.

All over the plaque.

Alright, so he’s not a saint. (He’s a monk.) But he’s not some divine figure either. He’s only human.

And oh, how he _loves_ to be human. Human weaknesses are so _deliciously_ tempting to fall victim to, especially that of a woman’s gaze, or the caress of her soft skin (particularly her thighs) or the wonderful chime of silver and gold coins jangling away within the confines of his robes. Inuyasha’s and Sesshomaru’s powers as half- and full-demons are forces to be reckoned with and definitely a point of admiration and envy, but Miroku’s quite sure he wouldn’t trade his basic humanness for that kind of power even if the most alluring woman offered it to him on a silver plate with batting eyelashes and voluptuous assets.

(Well, actually, that’s debatable. Maybe ask him again a little later.)

On the other hand, while Miroku doesn’t consider himself a hero, he’s certainly no villain. If you asked him, his little … _ticks_ and … _bad habits_ are all a means to an end, a way for him to survive another day in this dangerous and trying age, and it’s all well and good since he’s never intentionally hurt another person. But if you asked someone _else_ \- say, Sango, perhaps - then his bad habits are just that. Bad habits.

But Sango is a whole different story.

(He’s not entirely sure _when_ he’d starting spinning Sango her own story and not just as another thread to his own tale, but that’s a puzzle for another day.)

Sango is the closest thing he’s come to questioning his own (occasionally) lecherous and deceitful behavior. Miroku can say with utmost confidence that she’s singlehandedly ridden into his life astride her magnificent beast, grabbed his startled heart with irritated force and shook it violently, and now he’s left wondering if it’s ever worked properly in the first place.

As time goes on and shards are found, as demons are slain and innocent villagers are saved, there’s a little less sinning being etched onto Miroku’s plaque and a little more of that painstaking care that certainly takes effort but is also certainly worth it.

And strangely, with every day that passes, Miroku wishes more and more that he can just throw away his goddamn plaque in favor of recording Sango’s legacy instead of his own. To hell with his own fate. If someone’s story out there deserves to be told, he fully believes it’s hers.

 

 

**ALONE TOGETHER**

_i don’t know where i’m going  
but i don’t think i’m coming home_

“Well! I’ll be off now!”

The familiar phrase echoes around the entrance of the Higurashi residence before the eldest child dashes off with her impossible heavy yellow backpack digging into her shoulders. She’s slid the door shut with a gentle tap, leaving her dear grandfather, mother, and sleepy-eyed little brother bereft in her wake.

(They don’t know when they’ll get to see her again. They’ve stopped trying to keep to a schedule.)

Kagome’s built a tolerance for the numbness of time traveling. The dazzling glow from the magic of the Bone-Eater’s well are like strobe lights - disorienting, dizzying, blinding. The sheer power of the well to bring a single human being from one era to another pulls at the edges of her skin, fraying at her nerves and making her body hum with a mystical and bizarre energy. Everything that hurts, numbs, or pleases - she’s so used to all of it by now that she hardly notices anymore.

When Inuyasha had first travelled through the well, she’d wondered if he also felt the pull of the well’s magic the way she did but there’d always been something else to think or talk about. Perhaps it was just a human thing, anyway, something related to the human’s weak body compared to Inuyasha’s invincible half-demon anatomy.

(She never ended up asking.)

She never tells a soul but, for some time, the time-traveling, the “in-between” of the well separating Kagome’s modern world from Inuyasha’s Feudal era is where Kagome can find the quietest spaces of her mind.

(Only for a while, though! She’d learn later that everything can change in just a few years and that her truest peace of mind is found right by Inuyasha’s side, surrounded by the warmth of her Feudal family and cradling in her arms the increasingly familiar warmth of her own new family with Inuyasha.)

But for now, fifteen-years-old and swimming through all the distresses of teenage angst (and then some), if she’s not in the in-between then she’s always going a little crazy.

It’s not _life-threateningly difficult_ per se on her side of the well, but it’s not exactly easy either. Obviously there’s the whole issue with school ( _obviously_ ) and the aftershocks of her grandfather’s terribly executed lies about her health, but it’s not just that. Half of it is knowing that she’ll never quite genuinely relate to any of her friends or classmates again.

(They speak of life and love, of jealousy and betrayal and trust, of their fates being decided by _tests_ and _entrance exams_ but really, in _their_ fifteen years compared to _Kagome’s_ fourteen years plus a handful of infinitely strange and eye-opening months, what do they know? Her patience does wonders with maintaining her relationships with her friends but the question appears in her mind frequently when she’s in their presence - _hah!_ she thinks. _Love?_

 _What do you know._ )

The other half is the not knowing. It rarely happens but, to put it simply, it’s the worst.

They’re normally just instances of doubt and anxiety at the thickest and darkest hours of the evening, but they take their toll. They’re when she wonders how anything she’s lived through and seen with her own eyes - how could any of that be real? To which a sadistic, wispy and perfectly wicked version of her voice whispers to her - _then what if it isn’t?_

_What if none of it is real?_

The thought itself always claws a deep, red gash of fear in her heart that needs at least half a night’s worth of tears and another half of sleepless pondering. And sometimes, when her own resolve and belief isn’t enough and when she can’t convince herself that Inuyasha, Shippo, Sango and Miroku - the lot of them - are all as real as she, she depends on that well. One palm on the aging wood is enough for her to feel the thrum of magic and billions of lives and stories buried in its depths. It’s kind of pathetic the way she relies on a hole in the ground that technically doesn’t even lead to anywhere but God, does she need it.

But only for a while.

Kagome’s own troubled soul (she hides it quite well but she knows it’s just a little fucked up) manages to brush against hundreds of others, even the most broken and lonely ones like Kikyo’s, like Inuyasha’s, like _Naraku’s_. And by strengthening others, she strengthens herself; her lungs breathe easier, her legs run faster, her eyes see further.

Her heart beats prouder.

 

 

**ME & YOU**

_we’re the new face of failure_  
prettier and younger but not any better off  
bullet proof loneliness at best

He itches to run to her.

He’s loathe to actually compare himself to a dog, but that’s the only way he can describe it without sounding overly melodramatic.

It’s becoming something of a bad habit whenever Inuyasha spots a tree that looks even remotely like _his_ tree - or perhaps _their_ tree since after all _she_ was the one who pinned him there in the first place - or every time his cheeks catch the warm kiss of a sunset (never a sun _rise_ , and that bitter irony doesn’t escape his notice). Unlike Kagome and the others, who are washed with awe and an innocent, pure appreciation for the blessed mercies of the earth, Inuyasha feels nothing but sorrow.

And that itch.

It burns Inuyasha’s conscience to know that somewhere out in these lands walks Kikyo, or - _fine_ \- a resurrected construction of someone who _used_ to be Kikyo. He knows the stinking truth; his nose told him from day one that the powerful, beautiful priestess robed in white and red cloths is _not_ the Kikyo he used to know.

But he’ll be damned if he doesn’t think she’s in there somewhere.

Perhaps it’s his love for her that refuses to burn the bridge that’ll lead him straight into Kikyo’s arms and away from the path he’s been walking nervously - but steadily - with Kagome.

He did love her.

 _Oh_ , did he love her.

Maybe he was too young and a little lost and more than a little confused, but he felt _something_ with Kikyo, something that moved his heart.

Though the truth is, Inuyasha’s pretty sure “love” is probably the wrong word. Was he perhaps infatuated? He knows he held a deep fondness, a tentative but genuine affection for the priestess, and he’s quite certain it’s still there now, roaming around in his body, running through his veins and straight to his pumping heart. He won’t deny that his feelings for Kikyo are very much real and very much the most honest he’s ever been in his entire, bruised life.

But he wonders, was it really love?

Or was he just sick in the head with a perpetual ailment of incurable loneliness?

Were they both?

At night, when his friends sleep and try to rest up for another day’s journey, the guilt presses against his ribs like the bark of the tree supporting his back; it’s not hurting him but it’s there the entire evening. There’s the guilt for having embarrassingly little trust in Kikyo and the guilt for failing to protect her over and over again.

Of course, it’s the guilt knocking gently at the ribs closest to his heart that actually makes him ache a little. The guilt that, again, maybe they never _loved_ each other and they only really _needed_ each other, even for that short time.

That’s the ache that turns into an itch, which turns into a smoldering burn that he can soothe only by seeking her out.

He doesn’t always find her but one of these days, when they do run into each other, he’ll muster up enough courage to tell her what he’s fifty-and-some years overdue: that he’s sorry.

One of these days, he’ll apologize - he owes her that much - for a lifetime’s worth of heartache, for the obscenely little faith he had in her, and for letting them both down. He’ll get the words out somehow, even if he has to wrench them from his own throat with his own claws.

And if she’ll have them, he’ll offer her those words, those apologies, straight from the flesh of his hands so they’ll still be warm with his love that isn’t love, because the Gods’ honest truth and his real honest feelings are what she deserved from the start and what he should’ve given her all those years ago.

But that time is past, and he’s run out of chances, and all he’s left with is an infuriating itch, a handful of apologies, and two burning hearts.

 

 

**SUGAR, WE’RE GOING DOWN**

_i’m just a notch in your bedpost  
but you’re just a line in a song_

He’s always known that he’s second best.

Not even that - honestly, he thinks she never even had a second or third place with that damn dog hogging up the majority of her attention. In any case - it’s all the same. For Kagome, it was always going to be an “Inuyasha” stamped on the gold ribbon for first prize, never a “Koga” or an anyone else. (Like he said, there wasn’t even a consolation prize, or a silver ribbon, or a participation award. It was just a one winner, first-come-first-serve basis. No exceptions.) There is no way on heaven and earth _and_ hell that he could ever - dare he say it - win her heart.

Of course, he’s just being dramatic.

Koga will never and could never hold it against Kagome - dear, sweet, breathtaking Kagome with her sparkling eyes and her laughing cheeks. Alternatively, he can and probably will always hold it against that dumb-as-balls dog for as long as they both breathe. Why the hell not? The guy could bring his ego down a notch every now and then, and if Inuyasha’s friends were too pussy to do it themselves, then Koga’d step in whenever necessary.

And as much as he may or may not admit that it’s kind of amusing and, yeah, _fun_ to fling banter with the dog every now and then, there’s also a matter of Koga’s pride.

Kagome had chosen Inuyasha.

What were the implications of that? What does that even _say_ about a tough, handsome, and loyal fellow like Koga, who can defeat formidable demons with his bare hands or with one well-aimed kick?

In short, what did _Inuyasha_ have that _Koga_ didn’t?

They’d both lined up to take bullets for Kagome with no hesitation, they’d both _taken_ aforementioned figurative bullets at least once or twice now, risking their lives for her, and neither of them had blinked an eye. Koga’s a fantastic leader and his subjects adore him, at least whenever they aren’t running. He’s just as, if not far more good-looking than Inuyasha, and that’s Koga being generous. (In his honest opinion, the dog is barely easy on the eyes, especially compared to _his_ rugged handsomeness, toned and tanned by hours of running under the sun.)

Even a full moon’s cycle after he officially weds Ayame, while he’s honestly come to accept that Kagome wholly loves Inuyasha and she will never love him like that, he still tries to figure out the math between Inuyasha > Koga and how Kagome had come to that conclusion. Sometimes when he’s being more of an idiot than usual, he drags not only Hakkaku and Ginta into his stupid dilemma but even Ayame.

The poor girl handles with all the grace and poise of the queen she is; she simply shakes her head in exasperation but waves off Hakkaku’s and Ginta’s concerned glances towards her and answers his questions patiently but bluntly. Koga asks his new wife and his two most loyal companions questions about his little problem – _Do I actually smell like a wet wolf? Does it smell bad? What does Inuyasha smell like?_ – and at first the questions are irritatingly frequent. While her patience almost runs out more than a handful of times, Ayame is the picture of never-ending patience and forgiveness. A couple of scoldings from his right- and left-hand men, a little reprimanding from Kagome herself, and a demand from Inuyasha to _Get his fucking act together and do good by your actual wife, you stupid wolf!_ and he eventually steers himself back on the right track.

It takes maybe another moon’s cycle for him to finish beating himself up about the way he’d been treating Ayame, prioritizing his last love over her _and_ the pack. Gods, he’s such a wuss. No wonder Kagome always stuck with Inuyasha.

A year ago, Kagome might have been the wife of the century with her spitfire attitude and her warm hands but now it’s him and Ayame, and Ayame is … _Ayame_ , with that determined crease in her brows he’s noticed whenever they’re discussing pack politics, or her eyes like fresh summer grass, or her hair like wildfire, red and untamed. Honestly, where has his mind _been_ the past few weeks?

Ayame’s not who he pictured himself with years ago, but she’s his now, and he’s hers, and anyway, he’s always known that he was never Kagome’s. Maybe to her, he’d always be second best, or not even that.

But he’s starting to see that, with Ayame, he feels like he’s on his way to winning the entire world.

 

 

**SHE’S MY WINONA**

_we had a good run  
even i have to admit_

What no one’s ever told Inuyasha about his father is that he wasn’t always the biggest fan of humans.

Only the older generation knows of this though, and Totosai, Myoga, and Saya have come to the agreement that it’s not really something Inuyasha or his friends need to know. It’s in the past, and why would anyone want to taint such a picture-perfect _now_ with things from _before_?

Besides, it’s not as if the Taisho was all _that_ bad. If anything, he was more like Sesshomaru. Maybe a little colder, a little more talkative, and definitely more extravagant on the battlefield. (He liked to show off all of his stupid swords.) But they definitely shared the opinion that non-demons were weaker than them and the Taisho never hesitated to make sure the entire human population knew it.

But all great love stories always have a turning point, and for him, his life was split into two parts: Before Izayoi and After Izayoi.

She didn’t change his mind overnight, heavens no; one as mighty as him wouldn’t let a mere human affect him like that. But she certainly played an instrumental role in shifting his attention towards humans in a more compassionate, thoughtful, and intelligent manner. She helped him realize the core strength of humankind, something more profound and central to their common need for sympathy and companionship. Whatever it was, it was so … so _human_ but still undeniably powerful and if there was anything the Taisho had always respected, it was power.

And whatever this was about humans, still it dulled in comparison to how he felt whenever he was with Izayoi. It took him a while but with the help of his ragtag band of companions, he figured out that it was just love.

 _Just_ love.

It was _just_ love that turned him from treating humans like the plague to accepting them into his Western Provinces and expanding his kingdom with the skills and goods they could offer. It was _just_ love that drew him back to Izayoi frequently during his travels and their long, chatty walks into their favorite forests, along moonlit rivers, and deep within countless valleys. It was _just_ love that eventually gave him the brightest, most wonderful and most powerful gift of all: a son with Izayoi.

That fateful night was what the Taisho considered the peak of his immense power, physical and spiritual and everything in between. He’d never felt such a rush in his need to protect not only Izayoi but also the little spirit she housed in her womb, impatient to wake up in a new world. He’d never fought so hard, never run so fast, never transformed into his full demon form as smoothly as he had that night. He was truly a sight to behold, and he’d never been more thankful for everything he’d learned from Izayoi and all the humans he’d met and learned from on his travels.

He figured, he never wanted to wreak hell and havoc onto the planet like he did Before Izayoi. And he didn’t even want the glory of lording over his diverse and boundless kingdom After Izayoi. There was another, very short, very fleeting portion of his life that made it all worth it - After Inuyasha. The injuries from his battle with Ryukotsusei, his fight to the death with that samurai Takemaru, and all those years of bittersweet loneliness before he met Izayoi; it was all worth it the second he laid his eyes on his beautiful baby boy with long eyelashes and hair already as silver as his.

His life was like the blink of an eye at the speed he’d gone, but at least he’d been able to give Inuyasha a chance to bring thunder into the world and to light up the skies with lightning, just as he did.

 

 

**I DON’T CARE**

_the best of us can find happiness in misery_

There’s a demon inside of Inuyasha.

Everyone - at least everyone in Kaede’s village - knows that technically he’s _half_ dog demon so obviously there’s a bit of demon in there, but to everyone, Inuyasha is the brash and rambunctious, ramen-scarfing, cocky and arrogant … _guy_ that looks after the village, gets overly protective of his friends really easily, and, once you get to know him and see behind his facade of rudeness and impatience, actually has a refreshingly large heart.

Slowly but surely, they eventually don’t even think about the “demon” part of Inuyasha. Inuyasha is just Inuyasha; a little loud, a little weird, but a lot dependable.

Everyone - even the ones who know Inuyasha best - sometimes forgets that there’s a demon inside of Inuyasha.

They seem to forget that half of his blood is toxic with energy that thrums and sings glorious harmonies with every single adrenaline rush. It’s likely to have slipped their minds that his eagerness to hunt down aggressive, threatening demons is partially fuelled by some inexplicable yet insatiable urge to hunt and _hurt_ and sink his claws into something.

Oh, it’s nothing to worry about, at least, not any more.

It’s much easier for him to control now. His body’s built up a sort of tolerance for that demonic energy that’s a constant presence, like an endless buzz under his skin that he’s learned to tune out. And his friends help.

They help a lot.

(Later, his first kid helps even more.)

But if the situation is just right, if there’s blood in the air _and_ he’s aggravated _and_ any one of his friends are hurt _and_ there’s the right amount of that awful demonic aura in the atmosphere? That creature in him moves a little closer to the edge of his skin, right by his pores, ready for the first opportunity to break down his defenses and take over.

It doesn’t care about anything and it won’t listen. It just wants to run amok and let the world burn and glow in flames _for fun_ and Inuyasha - the real Inuyasha - hates the living daylights out of how helpless he is when The Other Guy comes out to play.

But what he hates more is the temptation of letting him have his fun.

What if Inuyasha lets go? What if he gives into that temptation, pulls down his defenses and lets The Other Guy erase the man (not human, not demon, just man) he’s become?

It would be a ridiculously quick life. And he still has much more to live for, he’s sure of that now.

So he doesn’t let it get to him. He won’t let go, he’ll never let go; he’ll sooner die than release the bars trapping The Other Guy beneath his skin, not just for the sake of his people, his friends, his family, but for his own sake too.

He lets the temptation simmer, and he shuts his eyes and swallows harshly every time a ripple of thick, dark energy runs up his spine to tease him (he’s gotten _very_ good at hiding that), and the demon in Inuyasha lives on, but so does he.

 

 

**SOPHOMORE SLUMP OR COMEBACK OF THE YEAR**

_take our tears and put them on ice  
‘cause i swear i’d burn this city down to show you the light_

If he could give her the world, he would.

It’s not like he doesn’t try. He builds her a fine house, cuts up wood from the strongest oak tree, creates furniture that’s suspiciously similar to the ones from her home in the modern world, and prepares bath after luxurious bath as often as he can. She left the comfort and “indoor plumbing” (whatever the fuck that is) of her modern world so she could live with him and love him in this old and ancient one and while he’s relieved and grateful every stupid second of his life, he’s also a little guilty that she’s given up so much just for him, a silly wide-eyed boy stuck in a world that just isn't ready for him.

 _She_ tries and tries and tries to tell him: he is her world.

Those three years felt more like three lifetimes waiting for a sign, a clue, an _anything_ to tell her that the well was ready for her again. But the second he pulled her up from that wretched hole in the ground that had sentenced her to three dreadful years of waiting, she decided it was worth the waiting. For the grass, for the crisp air, for the skies, for the sunsets, for her friends, for _this_ boy - it was all well worth the wait.

It’s a silly game they don’t even know they’re playing, trying to see who can say “I love you more” with the grandest action. He builds her a home. She kisses him above the clouds. He lets her fly from her perch on his back. She protects him day and night from humans and demons alike. He teaches her to fight and gives her a new, fulfilling kind of strength. She shows him a fantastic kind of warmth and love under the sheets in their beautiful home. He gives her his all and she does him one better. She gives him a family.

So if he could give her the world, he probably would, and he never stops trying.

But frankly, the one they’re in now, this world that they’ve built and keep building together?

This one’s good enough.

 

 

_fin_

* * *

[Setlist, in order]

 _Pavlove_ , **Folie à Deux**  
_America's Suitehearts_ , **Folie à Deux**  
_Alone Together_ , **Save Rock and Roll**  
_I'm Like A Lawyer With The Way I'm Always Trying To Get You Off (Me & You)_, **Infinity on High**  
_Sugar, We're Going Down_ , **From Under The Cork Tree**  
_She's My Winona_ , **Folie à Deux**  
_I Don't Care_ , **Folie à Deux**  
_Sophomore Slump Or Comeback Of The Year_ , **From Under The Cork Tree**


End file.
